


But Dismiss Your Fears

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>second part of "there will come a time series"</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Dismiss Your Fears

John and Sherlock don’t speak for weeks. But this time they have a reason to be so silent. Sherlock is tip-toeing around John, only speaking when needing to speak, and never getting in his way. Most of the time John doesn’t see Sherlock because he coops himself up in his room.

Harry tries to text John most of the time, insisting she comes over and spends time with him, help him anyway possible. But John says no, that he’s okay, he knew this was coming, it all had to happen eventually. He would be okay, he’s not a baby.

But John’s really not okay. Not okay at all. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever had his heart broken before, because he’s not sure if it’s ever been broken before. He didn’t know you could get your heart broken at the age of 37.

 

*

 

Sherlock Holmes has always considered himself a smart person. Always. He can deduce someone’s life story just by looking at the state of their clothing, he can tell how old they are by looking into their eyes. But yet somehow he didn’t deduce that the problem with John is that he was in love with him. He didn’t get that … until John kissed him.

Sherlock has never been kissed before.

 

*

 

John returns back to work after taking two of his personal days to calm himself down and prepare himself for the real world. He wakes up early that morning, to a quiet house, he doesn’t know if Sherlock is awake or not and he’s trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care.

He leaves the house silently, and returns home just as it’s bordering on nightfall.

Life continues on.

 

*

 

The first time Sherlock realizes he may be in over his head is three years after he had first met John Watson. Sherlock has always considered John a good friend, his best and only friend, honestly. He doesn’t really understand why John stays around most of the time. Sherlock knows he can be demanding, and annoying most of the time. But he can’t help it if he finds the world so fascinating all the time.

The world, though, isn’t the only thing he finds fascinating.

John. He finds John fascinating. It’s not necessarily his looks, but it’s how he handles situations, it’s how Sherlock can look at John and figure out if he’s been texting his sister, or if his mother has phoned or if he lost someone during surgery that day. He can tell whether John goes to a laundrimat to do his washing, or if he begs Mrs. Hudson to do it because he doesn’t have any time while he’s running around with Sherlock. He can tell John’s likes from his dislikes, if he’s worn a shirt two days in a row, or on a Monday or a Wednesday. He can tell if John accidentally uses Sherlock’s shampoo because he’s in such a hurry to get out the door so he’s not late for work. He can tell if he is getting on John’s nerves, or if John enjoys his company, he can tell every single thing about John Hamish Watson that some people would find it crazy, but Sherlock simply finds it _fascinating_.

Though recently it’s been harder to talk to John, to even be in the same room with him. He’s taken many shifts on with work, and is leaving early in the morning to return and disappear into his room at night. He’s making excuses as to why he can’t help Sherlock with cases, stating he’s swamped with work. Which is true, when Sherlock sneaks into John’s room while he’s at work there is paper work everywhere that John has been working on, but Sherlock knows for a fact that he’s only getting all this work because John is _taking_ all this work. It’s optional and John is choosing to busy himself. Sherlock knows why he’s doing this also.

It’s because John kissed him.

John kissed Sherlock, and it felt … _interesting_. It made Sherlock feel something…but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He needs to study on this. He needs to figure out what he felt when it happened, he needs to figure out and understand why he got the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach and why he wanted to pull John closer and _keep_ him there. There had to be an _explanation_ for all of this and Sherlock won’t rest until he figures it out.

It couldn’t’ be because … Sherlock has feelings for John. That isn’t a possibility. Sherlock doesn’t _have_ romantic feelings for _anyone_. He’s never had a crush, he’s never wanted to be _with_ someone. And until John … he had never had the desire to kiss anyone. – Not that he wants to kiss John, what he means is that he’s never _kissed_ anyone before John, he’s never had the desire to kiss anyone. No one. Sherlock Holmes doesn’t fall in love, he doesn’t care if he’s ‘The Virgin’ as his brother calls him, it doesn’t matter to him. Losing virginity doesn’t gain status, doesn’t make someone well known.

Mycroft says Sherlock thinks too much. Sherlock thinks he doesn’t think quite enough.

 

*

 

It’s only after four weeks after the kiss that Sherlock and John speak properly. Sherlock is crouched on his chair, legs pulled up to his chest and fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. He’s going a little bit insane from the lack of caffine – they had run out last night when Sherlock had woken up craving caffine.

John comes in the door – _earlier than usual_ – and closes it behind him. _– Tired. Got up earlier than other days. He wore that shirt yesterday, showered, used his shampoo_. – They make brief eye contact as John hangs up his hat. Sherlock clears his throat slightly, before noticing the bag of coffee in his hand.

“You brought coffee.” He says.

“I noticed we were out.” John responds.

Sherlock nods, biting down on his bottom lip for a moment. “How was your day?”

John looks up at him, surprised. “It was … fine, it was fine.”

“You seem stressed.”

“I—well, it’s work, I look at dying or sick people all day like. It is kind of stressful, Sherlock.”

Sherlock doesn’t say that he knows it’s not work that is making him stressed. He thinks it’s a good idea to just let it go. Instead he gets up, and he leaves, disappearing for the rest of the night and leaving John alone. He knows that’s what John wants, what John prefers.

It’s not his fault he can’t love. He’s never loved anyone, he never loved his brother, he’s never loved his father, and his mother was never alive long enough for Sherlock to know if he loved her or not. He’s never loved anyone. It never hurt this much, though, not to love.

 

*

 

Christmas is coming up, and there’s some sort of formal party at Lestrade’s house. Of course, Sherlock and John are invited. Sherlock can tell that John would simply rather not go, but to be polite is going. Sherlock thinks he’s going because John is going – they always go to these things together. If one of them didn’t accompany the other someone would think something was wrong – which there is, but that’s beside the point – and Sherlock doesn’t really want to answer stupid questions about his and John’s relationship.

They arrive at Lestrade’s house precisely on time, they don’t speak a word to each other on the ride over, and as they climb the stairs up to his flat.

Lestrade answers the door with a smile, “Merry Christmas, boys, I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says happily as he lets the two of them in. It’s not a full house, really, Lestrade’s invited some friends from work, as well as old college friends, Sherlock suspects. No one he really cares about is here, but he can’t really leave until John leaves. It’s how these things work.

A few hours later, everyone is surely on the way to getting completely wasted, and Sherlock has found himself in a corner, waiting patiently. He’s already deduced everything he can from everyone in the room, and is now focusing his eyes just on John. John’s tipsy, it’s obvious – the way his face is flushed, the amount of drinks he’s had, what kind of drinks he’s had. Sherlock has seen John intoxicated once or twice before, he’s not a embarrassing drunk, or a loud drunk John just gets really quiet and thoughtful when he’s drunk, quite the opposite of what Sherlock has seen in his days.

“John,” Lestrade mumbles moving to sit across from John on the couch. “I haven’t seen you in ages, what have you been up to? Sherlock says you’ve been busy.”

Sherlock watches John explain for the upteenth time the downright lie that has been spilling out of his mouth for the past few months: “I’m busy, work has been picking up recently, I haven’t had any time to do any cases currently.”

John has a few more drinks and he gets strangely even more quiet than usual, his eyes glossy, and Sherlock finds himself getting worried. He stands up and makes his way over to John who doesn’t even move when Sherlock kneels down in front of him. “Let’s go, John,” Sherlock says quietly to him, watching as John’s eyes flick up to him and then move away just as fast as they looked. He nods quietly, and allows Sherlock to help him stand up. They bid goodbye to Lestrade and stumble their way back to 221B.

Sherlock in all his time has never had to deal with a drunk person. He’s been around drunk people but he has never had to menouver one the way he is doing now. John is stumbling, his eyes still looking so sad it’s almost painful. Sherlock has to wrap his arm around John’s waist to keep him upright. When they arrive at Baker Street, John has even more trouble climbing up the stairs, and when they make it through the door they almost fall, but Sherlock catches him, securing his arms around John’s waist and hoisting him up so he doesn’t fall.

When John is in bed he curls himself into the sheets like a five year old, and Sherlock doesn’t seem to know what to say. He leans down and runs his hand along the top of John’s head, soothingly, and watches as John’s eyes squeeze shut at the touch.

“I’m sorry, John,” Sherlock whispers, before walking out and closing the door quietly behind him.

From John’s calm expression the next morning Sherlock knows that he doesn’t remember anything that happened the night before.

 

*

 

John goes to Harry’s house for Christmas. The flat is eerily quiet and Sherlock hates it.

This is the first Christmas that the two of them have spent away from each other.

 

*

 

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
 _I’ll be staying at Harry’s for New Year’s as well. Surprise visit from extended family._

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
 _I suspected as much. SH_

John doesn’t reply back.

Sherlock doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do when he and John aren’t talking. It’s been like this for weeks now and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. It’s his fault, Sherlock _knows_ it’s his fault but how is he supposed to fix it? That’s what friends do when they get in fights, right? They fix things. They apologize, and they try to fix it. Sherlock has apologized, though, when it happened … Lestrade’s Christmas party … was he supposed to apologize more? If that’s what Sherlock needs to do he’ll do it – he’ll do anything to get John back into his life, to make it like it was before. To have them be _normal_ again.

Sherlock doesn’t think he’s ever felt _lonely_ before. But if this is what it feels like, then he definitely feels lonely.

 

*

 

John returns home from Christmas at Harry’s house, to find a beautiful, small leather notebook with a note taped to the front. He opens the note bearing his name, in the oh so familiar elegant scrawl and reads.

_John,_

_I know we currently aren’t speaking. Well, yes we are speaking, but we’re not speaking like we used to. We’re not speaking like the close friends we are … or used to be. But friends usually give their friends gifts for Christmas. Since you weren’t here for Christmas you’re obviously getting this present late, but I still think it’s very nice. And I hope you enjoy it._

_Obviously you deduced that it’s a notebook, if you hadn’t I’d be worried, and honestly disappointed. I thought you may like to use this. I picked it, because it’s simple, so it reminded me of you. Not that you’re simple in a bad way, more like in a most magnificent way. You may use this for whatever you want, thoughts, writings, blog ideas. Maybe even notes for our cases… if we do any still._

_I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry that I hurt you, I never meant to. I just… can’t. For once, what I’m trying to say isn’t making any sense. But the only thing I can do, is apologize. I’m sorry, John. I am whole heartedly and terribly sorry. There’s nothing I can do, but apologize and hope you’ll forgive me._

_You’re still my best friend, if you want me to be yours I would love that._

_-SH_

 

John closes the letter shakily, and slips it in the front of the notebook, and slips the notebook into his sock drawer. He can’t look at it right now. He can’t _do this_ right now.

 

*

 

Sherlock comes into the door to find bags blocking his way into his flat. He looks around the room for a second, before he figures it out – they’re John’s, they are all John’s bags, filled with John’s clothes, John’s books, John’s _everything_. And then suddenly rounding the corner is John, another bag in his hand.

“Sherlock—” he starts.

“Where are you going? Where are you going that you need all your things?” Sherlock asks in a panicked rush. This isn’t happening, John isn’t leaving that’s ridiculous. When John doesn’t answer right away Sherock steps forward. “Where are you _going_ John?!”

“I’m going … away,” John whispers, eyes not meeting with Sherlock’s.

Sherlock’s eyes move fast, reading John’s body language like a book and in a few seconds he’s got it. “You’re not being fair to me – I didn’t do anything, I didn’t _mean_ to do anything!” he hisses at John stepping forward and kicking one of John’s bags out of the way. “You don’t get to treat me like this _I didn’t mean to do this!”_

John flinches and backs away, shaking his head. “I know it’s not your fault, Sherlock, I just need to get away from here for a few days!”

“And you’re ‘getting away from here for a few days’ by packing all of your belongings?” Sherlock shouts at him. “Ridiculous, John. I’m not an idiot – you think I don’t have it figured out?”

“Sherlock, please,” John whispers.

“You’re leaving because you’re in love with me and I don’t return those feelings, and you’ve been trying to get past it, to work past it but it’s not working and you’re not quite sure why. And you’re sick of it, you’re sick of living and being with me and being around me – that’s why you’re taking more shifts at work. You’re not getting _asked_ to do all that work, John you’re asking _for it_ so you can get out of the house early and return to sleep. By taking all this work you’re then too busy to be thinking of all the other things you used to do, help me with cases, go out for lunch or supper with me, by taking those shifts you then spend less time with _me_ which is exactly what you want isn’t it?”

“Sherlock, this isn’t _fair_!” John gasps, his eyes shining trying to push past Sherlock, but for some reason can’t find the courage to step up and shove the taller man out of the way.

“No, John, _no_ you’re not being fair to _me_. You don’t want to spend time with me because you want to get over me, and now because that isn’t working you’re running away, you’re packing your things and you’re _leaving_ which is just a simple way to get over me. You say to me that you’ll be gone for a few days, but I’m not an idiot, no you know I’m not an idiot. You’re not plannning on coming back, you’re going to live with your sister until you feel better and until you’re _over me_ and then you never plan on coming back. _I’m not an idiot John, I know exactly what’s going on here and it’s not fair to me_.”

There’s a silence. John too upset, tears spilling from his eyes, and Sherlock breathing so hard that if he were a cartoon he would have steam pouring out of his ears.

“What are you doing?” comes a voice from the door, Sherlock looks up to find a woman, in less than a second he knows who it is. Harry Watson, short cropped sandy-blonde hair, just like John with the same eyes, dressed in a casual jeans and boots with a winter jacket.

“I suppose this is goodbye then, John,” Sherlock says calmly, ignoring the woman in the doorway and turning back to his old friend. Sherlock then has to move, and he pushes past John, when his shoulder is being gripped and he is being forced to look back at John.

“Sherlock, please… please understand…” he whispers.

“So being my friend, was that all just a trick? Just you saying what you think I want to hear?” Sherlock snaps at John.

John shakes his head. “It’s not – you know it’s not!”

That’s right, Sherlock knows it’s not that. He barely hears Harry’s “Come on, John,” before John is stepping a little bit closer to Sherlock, and looking up at him.

“It was nice having a friend,” Sherlock says quietly. “For a little while at least.” He sighs, before walking out of the room, leaving the two Watsons to stand there.

“Sherlock!” he hears John’s voice cry out to him, before hearing Harry’s “Come on, John, it’s time to go,” Sherlock listens as they carry John’s bags out of the door and in less than ten minutes John is gone.

The first thought Sherlock has is how is he going to pay rent. The second thought is how is he going to live without John.

 

*

 

For the next two weeks Sherlock sits quietly in his chair. The house isn’t that noticably empty, John didn’t have many nik-knacks but for someone like Sherlock Holmes the house is completely empty. Especially John’s room. The only things left is the bedsheets and an empty dresser drawer. When John opens the top drawer that used to be John’s sock drawer, he finds the small leather notebook that he had given him.

He stares at it painfully for a moment, hurt by the fact that John didn’t take it with him. The note is nowhere to be seen, though, and Sherlock knows that John didn’t throw it out because he goes through their recycling to find interesting things to do experiments with and he never saw the note. But it makes no sense why John would take the note but not the presnet. He has a strage mind.

Most people have a strange mind, Sherlock reminds himself.

Still, John is one of the only people who can puzzle Sherlock. There’s many, many things that Sherlock understands about John, but every once in a while John will do something – something as simple as leaving a present, but taking a note – and Sherlock will be dumbfounded, unable to process for identify what John meant by this, why he did it.

There’s a reason for everything. That is Sherlock’s knowledge. There’s a reason John left, there’s a reason he took the note and not the journal, there’s a reason he fell in love with Sherlock. But there’s also a reason that Sherlock is feeling so empty and lonesome right now. He can only blame it on the loss of his friend. The only real friend he’s ever had. He’s never tried to have a friend before, because honestly he always found friends stupid. They got in the way of things, and they always caused trouble. Something about John was different. He wasn’t annoying – most of the time – Sherlock actually found his presence enjoyable, comforting even.

But now that John isn’t here, Sherlock finds himself alone most of the time. He’s usually in the house, or out of the house finding case after case to help with. But he doesn’t talk much, he’s definitely more moody. He doesn’t really talk to people as much as he used to – which is saying a lot because Sherlock hardly ever talks to people.

No one makes coffee like John made coffee either. It always tastes weird, because Sherlock can’t make it right, and Mrs. Hudson only drinks tea and doesn’t own a coffee machine, and Sherock sees no point in buying coffee, so he has so settle with the iffy coffee that just doesn’t taste the same. Whatever John did to, Sherlock can’t figure it out to make it taste the same.

Many people asked Sherlock what happened between him and John, there were many more people who wanted to know but never did ask. Sherlock didn’t answer them either way. He shook his head and told then sternly to not mention it to him, because it didn’t matter. John needed some time to be with his family. Sherlock thinks Mrs. Hudson figured out what was wrong, but he isn’t quite 100% sure on that deduction yet.

Sherlock realizes after two weeks that he hates living alone. Even though it was mostly silence throughout the house when he and John lived together, it was comfortable silence. It was nice to know that when Sherlock had a thought, he could say it outloud and someone would be listening. Every now and then Sherlock will say something, and then realize no one was there to hear it, and he has to admit, it’s quite lonely.

Sherlock never thought he could ever be lonely. But here he is.

 

*

 

Harry’s house is cozy, John feels comfortable living and working in there. But it’s definitely not home to him. John doesn’t think he’s ever had a true _home_ since he graduated high school. He’s lived in various places, dorms, flats, with roommates, but he’s doesn’t think he’s ever had an actual home.

Harry has been nice, though. She has been working on her drinking problem, there isn’t any alchohol in the house and she makes sure she’s home by 7 p.m. on weekends to spend with John. She’s worried about him, John can tell, but he’s okay, honestly. He’s made himself a schedule. He wakes up, he gets showered and dressed and makes himself some coffee and breakfast. He works on paper work for the majority of the day, before going into work and checking up on his patients and helping out around the office before he takes the car back to Harry’s house, who is already making supper. They eat quietly but together, they barely talk. Then John offers to do the dishes, which usually puts both of them into a small fight, but John always wins. Then he washes the dishes, he watches the telly for a few hours, or reads a book, and then goes to bed, and starts the new day up again.

 

*

 

Sherlock knocks on the door of a bright red door, and waits. As it creaks open, it just as easily almost slams shut on him, before he holds the door open.

“Leave,” Harry Watson says sternly, staring Sherlock down.

“Please let me see him,” Sherlock says quietly. “Please I need to speak with him.”

“No,” Harry says, glaring. “Now leave.”

“Not until I can speak with him,” Sherlock counters back immediately.

“He’s busy. Showering.” Harry says. She’s not lying, either, Sherlock realizes. “You’ve done enough damage to him, it’s time you left him alone, Mr. Holmes. He doesn’t want you around him – why do you think he left?”

Sherlock bites down on his lip, and shakes his head, he doesn’t say a word as he turns around ans walks off the porch, walking back towards the cabbie. And he leaves.

 

*

 

John is lying in bed late at night when he realizes he’s not okay.

 

*

 

Sherlock stays in bed for three days, with his eyes closed. He doesn’t sleep, he merely thinks.

Thinks about himself, and he thinks about John. About what John means to him, and how he is starting to believe that maybe he had misjudged himself when it came to John, and towards his own feelings. Sherlock is beginning to think something different, something different than something he’s ever felt before.

And then he knows.

 

*

 

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
 _Harry isn’t home. She’s at work, correct?_ _SH_

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
 _What do you want?_

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
 _I want to talk to you. Are you at Harry’s house right now? SH_

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
 _I don’t think I want you coming over here._

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
 _I’ve given you space, John. I just want to speak with you, but Harry won’t let me past the front door. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not planning to at least. So, please, come to the front door and let me in, so I can speak with you. That’s all I want, I promise you. SH_

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
 _I’ll let you in, if you give me your word on something._

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
 _Anything. SH_

To: Sherlock Holmes  
From: John Watson  
 _If I tell you to go. You have to go. No arguments._

To: John Watson  
From: Sherlock Holmes  
 _I give you my word, John. I promise you_.

The door creaks open and they both take in a deep breath from not seeing each other for weeks. John looks tired, more tired than usual. He steps to the side and allows Sherlock to enter the small house. They stand awkwardly for a moment, before Sherlock is reaching into his jacket and pulling out the small leather notebook, causing John to close his eyes for a moment.

“Why did you take the note but not the notebook?” Sherlock asks quietly, searching John’s face.

John looks at the leather clad book in Sherlock’s hands. “Let’s sit down,” he whispers, as he enters the living room, and sitting down on the couch, as Sherlock stands for a moment, before taking his coat off and putting it over a chair, before joining John on the opposite end of the couch, putting a respectable amount of space between them.

“Well?” Sherlock presses.

“I don’t – I honestly don’t know, Sherlock. I don’t, I’m sorry,” John says quietly, looking at the notebook again that has been laid on the coffee table in front of them. “I just – I grabbed everything that I could think of when I was packing, and I – just grabbed it.”

Sherlock nods, he doesn’t need an deeper answer than that. He thinks he understands. “I missed you, John.”

John doesn’t say a word.

“I’m _sorry_ , John,” Sherlock says, looking up at John, trying to make eye contact.

“I know you are,” John whispers. “I don’t blame you – I never blamed you.” John looks up, and they make eye contact.

Sherlock lets out a breath. “I have to explain—”

“—No! You don’t, really, Sherlock, it’s fine. I don’t need an explanation, you’ve already given me one,” John says out in a hurry.

“No, John,” Sherlock says. “I have to _explain_ something to you, something I don’t think I realized until just recently,” Sherlock whispers, reaching his hand out towards John’s, who is looking up at him extremely puzzled, so Sherlock easily slides his hand into John’s and squeezes.

“S-Sherlock?” John whispers.

“I’m very sorry I didn’t realize until … now. But I—you’ve always been different, John. I always – you’ve been my friend for years now, and I admire you. But I … I’ve never before had feelings for someone, like you have feelings for me,” Sherlock pauses. “When you expressed your feelings towards me, I was … scared. Yes, I was … scared for a moment, because I have never felt anything like that before and I – I went towards the first thought that came to my mind, what I’ve been feeling about relationships for my … whole life. But it’s not true now, John. I’ve realized that … I do have feelings for you, but I made the mistake of not telling you soon enough because I … I simply didn’t know how.”

Sherlock seems t let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, as he studies John’s face for _some_ sort of reaction.

“You…” John whispers, seeming bewhildered. “You want to … be with me? Now?”

Sherlock leans forward, closer to John and takes his face, forcing the older man to look up at him. “I’m sorry, John. I understand if you refuse to be with me now, because I’ve taken too long. But I wanted to let you know that – I do, I _feel_ it John, whatever it is and I – I want you.”

“As my … _boyfriend_?” John wonders.

“I prefer the word partner,” Sherlock mumbles quickly.

But then John is laughing, actually laughing, the emotion pouring out of his mouth and moving up and filling his eyes exactly like a smile should, and they’re hugging, Sherlock pressing kisses all over John’s face. And when Sherlock presses a kiss onto John’s mouth, they’re pulling each other closer, trying to memorize as much of each other as they can. It’s been _so long_. So long since they’ve been together, so long since they’ve touched each other in anyway.

John’s lips are just as Sherlock remembers them, soft, but full of authority, and he’s a little bit dizzy as John drags him up off the couch, and pulls him upstairs to what must be John’s bedroom. John’s mouth is back as they tumble into the sheets and kiss until they’re both breathless.

They don’t have sex that night. No, because Sherlock is The Virgin and John isn’t quite ready to make that journey through his sexuality. But they do kiss, and touch each other’s bare shoulders, and put little love marks all over each other’s chests. It’s perfect, just them, where they are, how they found each other, it’s perfect.

 _He’s perfect_ is the only thought Sherlock has that night.

 

*

 

They don’t necessarily have a perfect relationship. No one does. It takes a while before Sherlock agrees to be able to tell people. Mrs. Hudson is over the moon, Lestrade is gobsmacked, Mycroft actualy showed that he can be completely surprised at something and Molly just seemed very confused. They didn’t act any different around each other, everything seemed to just fall into place once John moved back home.

 _Home_ is a word that then came into John Watson’s vocabulary. He now had an actual home. Wherever Sherlock was, was his home, and vice versa.

They fight, like every couple. Their fights usually ended in Sherlock apologizing – which was insane to say that could have happened years ago, but Sherlock apologizes, and they fall into each other. Being each other’s rocks, everything, and that’s the reason they can be together. Their first _real_ fight scares the shit out of Sherlock, though. John leaves, and he finds himself in a situation where _he doesn’t know what to do_ , so he lays in bed, wearing one of John’s t-shirts, and waits for John to come back. When John does, Sherlock apologizes, but so does John, and they fall into each other’s arms once again and make love for the first time.

Sherlock for the first two years didn’t say the words “I love you” to John. _“I want to make sure I mean it, when I do say it.”_ He had said to John one night when they were lying next to each other in bed, fully clothed, but touching each other’s chests, and faces.

When Sherlock does say it, though, it’s sweet, and tender and it’s the first time someone has ever said it to John Watson and made him feel like they meant it. They’re lying next to each other, hot and sweaty, and still a little bit sticky, and Sherlock is running his hand across John’s forehead and into his hairline, and as he leans forward to press a kiss to John’s ear he whispers, smoothly, “I’m in love with you.”

And neither of them are afraid anymore.

 

_And there will come a time, you’ll see_

_With no more tears._

_And love will not break your heart,_

_But dismiss your fears  
  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you liked this little fic of mine... constructive criticism is always appreciated.


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